


What If?

by belovedplank



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Noncanonical Character Death, Pining, Pre-Canon, University, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-27
Updated: 2012-09-27
Packaged: 2017-11-15 04:29:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/523158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belovedplank/pseuds/belovedplank
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What of House and Wilson had met years earlier?</p>
            </blockquote>





	What If?

 

Throughout his childhood, House had been ostracized as the tall, freaky genius kid who showed up all the other kids.

 

His success at using his height and subsequent long legs to flee from the bullies and the kids he humiliated due to his higher IQ followed him into high school. There, he maintained a modicum of normality by becoming a member of the track team. For the length of a practise, House was tolerated. Nonetheless, the second practise was over, he was back to being alone and friendless.  He became so used to it, that he managed to persuade both himself and others that he preferred it that way.

 

Due to this determination and isolation, in hand with his incredible intelligence, he graduated two years early. He was barely sixteen when he started Harvard, the youngest pre-med candidate the University had ever accepted.

 

At Harvard, House was somewhat more accepted in terms of his love of learning and dedication to his education. However, he managed to avoid making a single friend amongst his peers. In spite of this, he also managed to earn a position on the University lacrosse team, in addition to track, and otherwise spent his time as a volunteer at the Hospital – hoping that some real hands-on experience would assist with his application to Medical School.

 

And it was there, in the residential ward of Harvard Med; that House met the first person to ever treat him as a friend.

James Albert Wilson was 80 years old, but a cranky, sarcastic bastard with it. He treated everyone to the same sarcastic temperament, and never sugarcoated anything. He was blunt, honest, and extremely quick-witted – a lecherous, dirty minded old man. He in equal parts infuriated and terrified the nurses – both male and female alike. For all those reasons, House adored him.

 

Within an hour of meeting, the two men had settled into a routine of sarcastic barbs and witty banter as if they had known one another for years. House was more than a match for Mr Wilson’s ‘I don’t need any help because I am going to die anyway!’ attitude, and James in return was able to grant House a less self-centred perspective on life.

 

Just as House was leaving after his first day with James, he stopped House and said, “Young man, you are the first person to treat me like a person rather than as a dying man who is slowly withering away. Finally, someone is talking to me like an adult – some intelligent conversation at last! You can come again.”

 

And that settled that. For the rest of his time at Harvard, House was scheduled to work in the residential ward – specifically with Mr Wilson, to the great relief of the hospital staff.

 

 

The fact that James was alone in a hospital ward had caused House to assume he had no family. James had mentioned a son to House, but said that due to animosity between himself and his daughter-in-law, they had not spoken in a long time. So, as he only had one child – with whom he was not speaking, House believed James to have no other visitors besides House himself.

 

The first semester of his second year was drawing to a close, and he was returning home for Christmas. The night of December 21st, a few hours before he was due to check-in for his flight, House dashed to the hospital to pick up his paycheque, and decided to check in on James.

 

When he reached James’ room however, he was surprised to see a young teen in the visitor’s chair. The boy was no older than thirteen, with bangs of straight brown hair framing his face like curtains. His deep, coffee-coloured eyes were identical to those of the man sitting up in bed, who was looking happier than House had ever seen him.

 

Noticing the lanky figure leaning in his doorway, James tore his eyes away from his young visitor, and was quick to invite House in. He wanted his two favourite people to meet. “Greg, I want you meet my grandson, Jimmy.”

 

The younger James pouted at his grandfather and whispered something. Chuckling, James ruffled the teen’s hair as he replied: “It would be far too confusing for us both to be James, and Greg is bound to see you again. So, while you are here, you are Jimmy.”

 

House smirked at the kid, before turning his attention to the man in the bed. “Didn’t know you had a grandson Jay.”

 

“Actually Greg, I have three. However, my namesake is the only one the daughter-in-law has not managed to turn against me. He gets a bus here when he can, and spends some time visiting with me. Jimmy, this is the man I’ve been telling you about,” James said.

 

Greg winced at that, and turned to the kid with trepidation, while asking the older man, “What on earth will the kid think of me after some of the tales you’ve probably been filling him with?”

 

“Grandpa says you’re a sarcastic son of a bitch – just like him, that you’re unfairly intelligent, and that someday you are going to be one of the best Doctor’s in the country.” Jimmy replied, looking the taller man in the eye.

 

House raised an eyebrow, but nodded. “Well, that’s all true, but what’s this about me being ‘unfairly intelligent’?”

 

“Greg, your IQ is practically off the charts high – you barely have to break a sweat to ace every subject you take. Whereas my boy here works his ass of for his well-deserved A’s. Jimmy is a year or two ahead in some of his subjects – he’ll probably be taking a few college-level classes before he graduates!”

 

Jimmy was looking at the floor, the tips of his ears red with embarrassment at the praise from his grandfather, but House understood how proud James was of the only relative who acknowledged his existence.

 

“Well then Li’l Wilson, it’s a pleasure to meet you. To get such praise from your cranky old sod of a grandpa, I am sure you are going to be someone worth knowing.”

 

House stuck out his hand, and the younger Wilson accepted it with pride. He was being spoken to and treated like an adult. This was rare for a boy at a time in his life when he was always being looked down on at school for being younger than his classmates, and his family treated him like the child his ‘youngest son’ status demanded he be.

 

As House went to lean against the foot of the bed, he noticed a guitar leaning against it.

“Didn’t know you played guitar James,” he quipped, raising an eyebrow.

 

He watched the emotions play across the faces of both Wilson’s – the younger hiding his face behind his curtain of bangs, as the elder beamed at him proudly. “He’s not only an academic genius, but a musical one as well! Every Christmas, he plays me another song that he’s taught himself. What’s it this year, Sonny Boy?”

 

Jimmy looked at Greg and blushed, before murmuring “The Rolling Stones Grandpa”

 

House could see his presence embarrassed the teen, but as soon as he heard whom Jimmy was playing, he knew he had to hear it.

Grinning wryly down at the young man, House said, “The Stones are one of my favourite bands – what song have you learnt?”

 

House could see every emotion play its way across the kid’s face, so, crouching down to eye level, he said, “Look kid, I love music, and I trust Jay’s judgement. If he says you’re good, I want to hear it. If you fuck it up, I’ll tell you, but if you do it justice, I’ll tell you that too. Okay?”

 

Nodding, Jimmy grabbed his guitar and walked around to the other side of the bed – directly in his grandfather’s line of sight. After a moment of ensuring the guitar was still in tune, he started to play. After the introductory chords, he started to sing:

_Oh, Carol_

_Don't let him steal your heart away_

_I'm gonna learn to dance_

_If it takes me all night and day…._

 

And away he strummed, putting his heart and soul into every chord, every note, every syllable. And House was totally blown away. With that one song, the younger Wilson had won a place alongside his grandfather in House’s heart.

 

As the last chord was played, he received a loud and rowdy applause from his two-man audience. He took a short bow, blushing deeply, but unable to stop smiling.

As he returned to his seat, Greg patted him on the shoulder and said, “That was very well-done boy. You did Chuck Berry and the Stones proud.”

 

Seeing the look of pride and happiness on his friend’s face, and the look of pride on the ‘mini-Wilson’ at making his grandfather happy, gave House a rare moment of tranquillity. It also gave him an idea.

 

Fifteen minutes later, the nurses had managed to fill the small assembly hall down the corridor with cancer kids, and other terminal and residential patients. Wheeling the senior James Wilson right in front of the stage, House dragged the junior version beside the piano with his guitar, before turning to the audience.

 

“Evening. My name is Gregory House, and this little man here is the junior James Wilson. We are here right now in an attempt to cheer some of you up with something I normally steer well clear of – Christmas spirit.”

 

So, with a nudge to Jimmy, Greg settled himself at the piano. After conferring with his young associate for a minute, he cracked his knuckles and began to play the introduction, as Jimmy stood beside him.

And together, totally unrehearsed, having never played or sung together before, these two young men put together a production the likes of which the hospital had never seen. They brought joy, hope and laughter into the hearts of some very sick people, by doing no more than sharing a talent that they otherwise hid from the world.

 

They received a standing ovation – both from the patients they had been entertaining, and the staff and visitors who had trickled in over the hour. House was pleased to see Jimmy bow properly, and accept the applause with grace and modesty, before walking offstage with his head held high.

 

 

Once James Wilson Senior was settled back in his bed, Jimmy gathered his coat and guitar, and kissing his grandfather goodbye, readied himself for the journey home.

 

“How’re you getting home, Lil Wilson?” House asked as he shrugged on his own coat.

 

“He gets two buses,” the bedridden Wilson replied for him.

 

“Where to?”

 

“His home,” Jay quipped.

 

House glared at him, before turning to Wilson. “Look Jimmy, I know you don’t know me, but I **am** a friend of your grandfather’s. I’m off to the airport, and if you live on the way, I may as well drop you off.”

 

Smiling slightly up at the lanky man, Wilson nodded. “I live about 5 minutes drive away from the airport, 221 Baker Street.”

 

Greg chuckled. “Seriously?”

 

Wilson pulled a face, before nodding. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Sherlock Holmes I am not.”

 

“Come on then, kid. Let’s get you home.”

 

After shaking his friend’s hand and wishing him a merry Christmas, Greg took Wilson by the shoulder, and led him out. He picked up his suitcase from reception, and went outside, teen in tow, to hail a taxi.

 

As they reached the top of Baker Street, Wilson asked the cab to stop. “It’d look a bit odd if my parents saw me get out of a taxi with a strange man.”

House nodded, but got out of the car with Wilson, adamant that he would wait until the boy was safe inside before he left.

 

“Goodnight Jimmy, and you keep up with that guitar, okay?”

 

“Yes Mr House.”

 

“Just House please, kid”

 

“Then call me Wilson; I have to say I do not much care for Jimmy.”

 

House raised an eyebrow but nodded, storing that little tidbit of information away for future use.

 

Wilson took a few steps before turning back to House, who was still waiting by the cab.

“House?”

 

“Yes, Wilson?”

 

“Thank you for being friends with my grandfather, talking to him and treating him like a coherent and competent adult. He deserves better than he has, so I’m glad he has you. Thank you for that.”

 

And with that, Wilson stepped up to House and wrapped his arms around his waist.

This was the most affection House had received apart from his own mother since he was a child.

 

After a moment, Wilson let go, and Greg ruffled his hair. “Was good to meet you Kid, you keep visiting your grandpa okay? And have a merry Christmas.”

 

“You too, House.”

 

As Wilson finally reached his doorstep, he turned to wave goodbye to his new friend – as House returned to the taxi and was driven away.

And that was that.

 

 

From then on, a part of House’s visits were devoted to an update on the much-loved Wilson grandchild, and the younger Wilson always asked after House.

 

It was very rare that House was actually on-shift during visiting hours, but the weeks Wilson was due to visit his grandfather, House always stuck his head round at the end of his shift, to see if Wilson needed a lift.

After Christmas, the lift was usually in the form of House’s shiny motorcycle – he had been working on it since the summer before starting University, and his parents had finally caved and contributed to its completion and a year’s insurance.

 

Wilson was initially rather scared of the bike, but too proud to show this fear in front of House. The sarcastic camaraderie House shared with his grandfather was also bestowed upon him, as was intelligent adult conversation, and praise when Wilson sent a smart quip back to House. Wilson was loath to lose any respect House had for him by showing his fear. However, his face was as easy for House to read as it had been when they first met. He was proud of Wilson for facing – and eventually overcoming, his fears.

 

For the next two Christmases, House and Wilson performed Christmas carols and songs for the patients, and House gave Wilson a piece of sheet music – a new song for him to teach himself.

 

Wilson started to fit in a little more. He joined the baseball team and the drama club. House brought his grandfather to his performances when he was well enough to attend (although never on the opening night when Wilson’s parents would be present), and he filmed the shows when James was too sick to go.

 

Time passed on, and at 20, Greg was graduating from Harvard, at the top of his class, set for Johns Hopkins Medical School. There was no celebration. For Greg, Harvard was merely a means to an end. Aside from his mother, who would always be proud of him, the only people whose opinions mattered were usually found in room 314 of Harvard Med.

 

The night after his Graduation, he went to visit James, and found both him and Jimmy waiting for him, with a banner and a cake.

The two Wilson’s expressed how proud they were of their friend, and in a rare show of emotion, Gregory House actually blushed at their sincerity.

They ate cake, and reminisced about their time together the last few years, but as visiting hours drew to a close, they faded into silence. They knew that this would probably be the last time they would all sit together in this room, as Greg left the state for pastures new.

So, with a hearty handshake, and address scrawled in House’s chicken-scratch (indecipherable enough to rival the handwriting of any qualified doctor), Greg took leave of his first and only friend, and took the youngest Wilson for his last ride.

 

As it **was** their last ride, House decided to throw caution to the wind, and drove Wilson right to the door. Although terrified at what his Father would say if he saw the prodigal son on a motorcycle with another man, Wilson cared more about the fact that his friend was leaving.

 

“Here ‘ya go kiddo, door-to-door service, seeing as this is our last ride.”

 

He pulled off his helmet, and passed it to House as he turned his head away, in an attempt to surreptitiously wipe his eyes.

 

Even in his pre-infarction days, House was far from good with emotions, and just ignored Wilson until he had himself under control. Straightening his shoulders and his resolve, Wilson turned back to House, one hand rooting through his backpack. With a flourish, he produced a perfectly wrapped present, complete with ribbons and bows.

 

“You didn’t have to do – oh what the heck!” House grabbed the present, and proceeded to stick the bow on Wilson’s forehead before shredding the paper and leaving it to fall to the ground.

Ignoring Wilson – who was stooped at his feet grumbling under his breath as he picked up the mess, House held the gift reverently. He opened the first book in the Sherlock Holmes collection, and read the inscription in Wilson’s flowing script:

 

_For Sherlock,_

_May the mysteries of Johns Hopkins rival the brain of the mastermind._

_Your Watson_

 

As he closed the book, a photograph fell from the back page– taken the Christmas before. Wilson had just turned 16 and Greg was still 19, both were at the piano, side by side.

 

Greg struggled to swallow the lump in his throat, as he quickly tucked the photo back within the book’s pages, and returned his gaze to the patiently waiting boy beside him. It was in moments like these that House had to remind himself, that however adult and mature he seemed, Wilson was still a boy.

 

Wilson could see the smile in House’s eyes. He stepped up and hugged him, arms round his waist just as he had two years before. House was much more at ease than he had been then. He ruffled Wilson’s hair in the same way as they stepped apart, and told him, “Now you look after your grandfather while I’m gone y’hear? Put that new-fangled motor of yours to some use and drive to the hospital to visit him. I won’t be there any more to drive you home. Keep me posted on how he is okay?”

 

As soon as James had nodded in response, House flipped the visor back down on his helmet, straddled his ‘baby’, and saluted as he revved the engine and sped away.

 

 

As the time passed, letters where exchanged – the Wilson letters peppered in such away as to easily realize they were being written by *both* generations of James. Wilson continued to receive a new sheaf of music with the Christmas greetings each year.

 

The day of the younger James’ high school graduation he received a large parcel to his home. The family all marveled over who could have sent it, because there was no return address, but one look at the chicken-scratch print of the address told Wilson who. But not even the senior Wilson would have expected the gift his friend had bestowed upon his grandson: a Fender Stratacoustic Electric Guitar!

While his parents continued to question the identity of the giver, Wilson’s smile widened as he read the tag attached:

 

_Watson,_

_I never doubted your brilliance._

_This is to ensure you maintain talents other than those of an academic nature._

_Sherlock_

 

All their contact over the last several years had been by letter – not even a phone call, even when Wilson suggested it - and none of these letters had been just between House and Wilson. House’s letters had **always** been addressed to the elder James.

 However, the thank-you letter Wilson sent was not to be the last piece of private correspondence between them.

 

Several years later, Wilson had returned home from McGill for the summer, to find out that his grandfather had took a turn for the worse. Before summer’s end, Wilson was packing up his grandfather’s belongings, looking for the contact details of one Doctor Gregory House of Princeton-Plainsborough Teaching Hospital, to inform him that his friend had passed away.

 

 

The morning of the funeral arrived, and Wilson felt overwhelmed by the hypocrisy. Family who had ignored his grandfather for years suddenly clambered together to ensure that he received a proper Jewish sendoff. As the house was prepared for shiva, James paced the front porch going over the eulogy he demanded he be allowed to give.

 

He raised his head from its gaze at the floor, the slam of a car door quieting his muttering as he glanced over to see who had yet to arrive.

 

However, the sight of the lanky young man in a dark suit and a black yarmulke stopped Wilson short. When the man turned away from paying the cab to face the young man on the porch, Wilson could not stop himself from running down the steps towards the only man who could really share the pain of his loss.

 

As the young man reached his destination, House took one look at the face that was still far too easy to read, and totally disregarding his usual need for personal space, he pulled the grieving Wilson into his arms.

 

In spite of the inquisitive and accusatory glares and stares of friends and relatives that Wilson could **feel** upon them, Wilson simply wrapped his arms around House’s waist, the same way he always had, burying his face in House’s chest as he whispered, “God House, am I glad you’re here.”

 

After they broke apart, Wilson walked back into the house, Greg beside him, ignoring the looks they received. Slamming the door behind them, James ensured he had the attention of his family before making introductions.

 

“If anyone in this family apart from myself had actually cared enough for my grandfather to have visited him while he was in the hospital, you would know who this man is. This is Gregory House. He used to work at the hospital, and was a great friend to my grandfather. He loved him just as much as I did, and as such, will walk beside me, and will assist in carrying his coffin.”

 

Objections were immediately made to that, but Wilson was adamant – “Dad, you **have** to be a pallbearer because you are his son – even if you didn’t act like it for the last decade or more! Joseph obviously, as your eldest, will be beside you. But David is gone Dad! And I **know** that this was what Grandpa would have wanted. So just abide by his wishes in **death** , even though you never did in life.”

 

After that, the ceremony went on without a hitch, and they all returned to the house to sit shiva in silence. However, it was impossible for House to sit still for over an hour, so he eventually moved from his position half-hidden behind a potted plant, and quietly made his way to the mahogany baby grand sitting in the bay window.

As he ran his fingers gently over the ivories, several glares were aimed at him for disturbing the silence. Once again, Wilson surprised his family by standing up to them in House’s defense.

 

“My Grandfather loved music. He loved to talk, to share his knowledge and experience. He may have been a sarcastic son of a bitch, but he was intelligent and loved life in his own way. He would not want us to sit in silence.”

 

Nodding decisively at House, Wilson grabbed the acoustic guitar leaning against the piano, and grinned in recognition of the song Greg had started to play. It was fitting.

He quickly picked up the tune, and allowed Greg to start:

When you're down and troubled  
And you need a helping hand  
And nothing, oh nothing is going right

 

Greg looked at him with a sad smile, leaving him to continue:

Close your eyes and think of me  
And soon I will be there  
To brighten up even your darkest night

 

And then together, in perfect harmony, as if they had been practicing for weeks, they sang:

You just call out my name  
And you know wherever I am  
I'll come running to see you again  
Winter, spring, summer or fall  
All you got to do is call  
And I'll be there, yeah, yeah, yeah.  
You've got a friend

 

Between the two of them, they sang the entire song, although by the end, silent tears were streaming down James’s face. Wilson just looked at the floor as House stood, and, turning his intense gaze on each member of the family, said clearly: “James Wilson was a good man in his own way, and I am proud to have been able to call myself his friend. I will miss him. I am glad that his legacy can live on in his namesake, a man who I am equally proud to call friend.”

 

Raising the glass of whiskey he had swiped from the kitchen, he toasted; “To James Wilson – both Senior and Junior.”

Knocking it back, he placed the empty glass on the piano and walked up to Wilson. Ruffling his hair, he said “Come on now, Jimmy. This time, you can give me a ride.”

 

The ride ended up being no further than the airport. House had managed to garner himself a fellowship at PPTH – quite an accomplishment, but also arduous and time consuming. As such, Greg could not afford to be away from the hospital for long, and had only just managed to get that one-day off.

Like the gentleman House was so far from being, Wilson carried House’s backpack (in which House had already shoved his tie and yarmulke), and walked House to his terminal.

 


End file.
